Unasked Questions
Feb. 10th, 2011 06:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Face/Hannibal, H-BAMF
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: dub-con to the extreme edge of the dub
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme
There have been a few excellent fics around where Face is reluctant/oblivious to the fact that he really enjoys batting for both sides and its made me yearn for something more...
Namely, H,M & BA are already in a 3 way relationship and want to bring Face onboard. Whren he finds out he is not at all keen, can be even a bit homophobic about if author wants and resists all gentle attempts of encouragement.
So for whatever reason (alcohol, frustration, just knowing face better than he knows himself) the guys decide to do it anyway.
To start with Face is not at all happy - I'd love it to be quite dark and right on the edge of non-con - but as all three of them work on him, I'd like him to realise that they are right, and by the end he is loving it.
Extra bonus points if writer gets in some orgasm denial and gets Face actually *begging* them to finish him off...
Must be a happy ending though, don't want poor Face gang raped... :(
(Well - that would be another prompt! )
*runs off to hide under a rock*
When Face finds out about the other three’s relationship, he promptly freaks out. And Hannibal sets him straight.
If Face was being honest with himself, he’d always known there was something going on between the two of them.
It just... it just wasn’t something he’d wanted to see.
Or think about.
But it was too late for that. Too late for him to go back and not see what he had seen this morning, after he’d woken up early after crashing on Hannibal’s sofa, yet another night of company drinking and debauchery taking him down. He’d heard it, of course, unmistakable, that sound, but he figured it was just some girl that BA had brought to the party. Too late, not to have passed by the half-open bedroom door and sneaked an accidental peek in.
Not after that.
Seeing them together, Murdock with his hands wrapped around the bedpost, leaning forward into it, on his knees, entire body shaking with the force of that full 230 pounds of solid bulk driving into him. BA, eyes closed and mouth slack, sweat beading along his brow, hands tight on the pilot’s pale waist. Murdock, moaning like a whore with every thrust, both of them so focused, so lost in each other, in what they were doing...
And Face fled for the shower.
He tried to block it from his mind, but it wouldn’t go away. Those two, together, like that. Wouldn’t leave his mind, and the worst part about it was that the only word Face could come up with to describe it wasn’t gross or horrifying or disgusting or any of the things he’d always thought it would be, knew, knew it would be.
Erotic.
That was the only word that came to mind.
“So what’s the problem, lieutenant?”
The younger man stares at Hannibal, aware his jaw is probably hanging open and not able to close it. “Really? Really? I mean, really? Are you seriously asking me what the problem is?”
Hannibal nods, looks at the cigar he’s slowly working away on, his face casually inscrutable. “Yeah kid, I’m seriously asking you what the problem is. Do you have a problem with this?”
“Fuck yes!” the lieutenant sputters. He hates saying it. Over the last year, BA and Murdock have become his friends, teammates... almost like brothers. And they’re screwing and it ruins all of that. Ruins everything.
He's lost them. Maybe he never had them, and something twists up inside him, thinking he's going to lose something good.
But he’s talking to Hannibal, their commander, and that obligates him to take action. And now those two are probably going to get a DADT discharge special, and that just totally...
“Why?”
It’s so calm and so even that it knocks Face completely off-kilter. “What do you mean, why?”
Hannibal’s puffing on his cigar. “It’s a fairly straightforward question, Face. Why does it bother you?”
“It’s...” and he can’t say it’s disgusting. He can’t. He can’t forget the way they’d looked together, so in synch, so together, can’t forget the horrible sinking feeling inside him either, everything, everything in his entire life screaming that there’s something wrong with it, but he can’t figure out what. Why. Just was. “Look, boss, I get that Murdock’s crazy and everything...”
And that gets him Hannibal’s cold, icy anger. “You think he’s gay because he’s insane?”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant, I just... it’s not okay, boss. It’s just fucking not, and it's your house, so I know you're going to get busted if this ever comes out and I'm just, I don't know...” and he trails off. He doesn't know what he wants to say.
The whole world's been turned upside down.
The boss takes another deep drag on his cigar, clearly winding up for one of those long, long lectures about everything that was wrong with Lieutenant Peck, and Face braces himself, literally, hanging on to the couch, when BA comes in from the front drive, where he was working on his latest car. Wait, why is BA working on his car at Hannibal’s place? Face realizes he’s never wondered about this, why he’s wondering about it now. They always spend the weekends over here, right?
That's just how it always works.
Nothing suspicious about that, right?
The big guy nods to them both, kicks his shoes off, and makes for the bathroom, but Hannibal gets in front of him and stops him cold.
Just a little close.
“BA,” Hannibal says lightly, “Face here has something that’s been troubling him. And frankly, I think we need to discuss it.”
Those dark eyes dart over to Face and back to Hannibal. “What is it, boss?”
“Face, tell him.”
“Boss...”
“Come on, Face. Get it out there.”
Face feels that sinking feeling again. Hannibal, trying to humiliate him. Shit. “Well, uh, this morning, I came back a little early from the gym and you two were, err...”
BA crosses his arms. “You gotta problem with that, prettyboy?”
Those eyes, boring into him, and Face can’t lift his head to meet them. “Well, uh, I guess...”
“I have a problem with it,” Hannibal says, and the lieutenant finds himself going cold again. There’s nothing good about that tone, dropping an octive, low and almost... sexy. The boss’ hand is still on BA’s chest, and oh, oh, dear sweet baby jesus, not... “I thought I told you two... never without me, Bosco.”
Face doesn’t want to look, but he can’t help it, can’t help it at all.
The boss, his boss, Hannibal, a fucking colonel for crissakes, actually has a hand resting right on the rise of BA’s hip, another playing around his neck, and he’s kissing him. Kissing him. In a way that can’t be interpreted as anything but possessive.
Oh, fuck no.
“Sorry, John,” BA murmurs as he pulls away, a kind of intimacy in his voice that sends shivers through Face’s entire body, something he knows, right then, he’s never felt with anyone. But it’s gay and it’s so, so wrong...isn’t it wrong? “Won’t happen again.”
“Good,” Hannibal growls, and BA cocks his head at Face for a moment, the boss’ hand still on him for a second more, and then he’s pulling away. “If you have a problem, lieutenant, you’re welcome to take it up the chain. I won’t stop you.”
“Always thought you were bi anyway, Faceman,” the corporal jokes, and that’s it, that’s all Face can take.
He practically throws himself off the sofa. “I’m going home, goddamn it.”
“Murdock’s doing lunch,” Hannibal calls after him.
Shit.
That means he has to stick around.
Shit.
“Fine,” he grumbles, and flops back down on the sofa, grabbing for the remote, and ignoring the both of them. Just a few hours, and he can get the hell out of here.
+++++
Face isn’t going to report them. Any of them. He isn’t capable of that.
He knows that much.
“Faceman, whassa’ matter? You ain’t so much as said hi to me today.”
He looks up from where he’s collapsed on the deck, untouched bowl of cereal by his side. He does this, sometimes, or sunbathes out here. But he’s got his shirt on because he can’t stand the thought of any them seeing him even half naked, not now, not ever again.
How is that going to work?
How is any of this ever going to work again?
How has it worked?
Motherfucker. He’s been naked in front of them before, shared a sleeping bag with Hannibal on that one mission that one time, shared beds, showered with them, and they’re all... jesus, they’re all...
And fuck, he though the pilot was still asleep. After that kind of... and Face curses himself for being such an ass about of all this. “Hi, buddy.”
“You okay?”
He goes back to his cereal. Concentrating very hard on making that heterogeneous mixture of milk and crispy little rice things and rainbow marshmallows into something smooth and even and... no, no, heterogeneous was good. Hetero. He swallows. “Fine.”
“No, really, Faceman, are you okay?”
There’s nothing but concern in that voice, but Face can’t respond to it. He can’t. He feels like he’s going to shatter apart as it is. “Murdock,” he says quietly, “you were taking it up the ass.”
His best friend, his very best friend, the man who just clicks in with everything else in his life like nobody else has, the first person he’s ever thought of as a brother, his gay best friend, blinks a few times. “Yeah?”
“Where’s the confusion, Murdock? It’s goddamn...”
“What, Face? You gonna pull that macho bullshit about how real men don’t get fucked?” The pain in the pilot’s voice is papable. “Think we can’t be friends anymore cause I’m some kinda twink?”
“I didn’t say...”
“But you’re thinkin’ it. You’re thinkin’ you don’t know me anymore.” There’s a hand on his shoulder and another taking the cereal away from him. What the hell, he doesn’t want it anyway. “Face, Face, look at me.”
He forces himself to comply. And there it is, the hurt he’s caused, his own guilt. “Murdock...”
“D’ya think I’m not me anymore, Face? Am I different? Am I not me anymore?”
Coming from Murdock, that can be a literal or figurative type of question, and either way, it hits Face where he lives, deep down. “No,” he says, and says it because it’s true. “No, you’re still Murdock.”
The fingers on his shoulder dug in a little, like they always did before, and it only scares Face because, well... “Yeah?” comes the soft little reply.
“Yeah.”
“So, what’s your problem?”
Face struggles with that for a moment. He’s really not sure, so he just blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “It isn’t natural, buddy, it’s...”
“Gross?” Murdock says it with a laugh.
Face wonders if everything’s okay. Fuck, everything needs to be okay. “It is a little gross.”
“Hey!”
“You’re the one who said it!”
“So, you’ve never thought about it?”
“No.”
“No? Not Hannibal or BA? They’re both so... never?”
“No, Murdock.”
A long pause, and then the pilot has to ask the worst question possible. “Me?”
And that gives Face pause. Murdock can’t be asking him this. What’s he supposed to say to that? After their year together, he knows that the pilot’s not as clinically insane as the military seems to think he is, but still, he’s fragile. Doesn’t take too much pressure to snap him apart, and there’s something wistful in the pilot’s voice anyway right now, so there’s got to be something... and Murdock’s other hand was on his other shoulder and those blue-green eyes are crinkled up, studying his own.
Like Murdock can see right through him, and it scares the shit out of Face.
The lieutenant gulped. “No.”
“Never?” Their noses are so close, almost touching. “Never ever ever?”
“Murdock, what are you...”
But it’s too late to be asking questions.
The pilot’s lips, soft, softer than he would have thought, latch onto his own. Easy, gentle, closed. Almost sweet, if he couldn't feel stubble, and why is that exciting? An offer, Face thinks, a little promise of what his body seems to be responding to, betraying him utterly by leaning into it, just a bit, his lips parting, and he can feel Murdock’s smile as he starts to dive, taking them both...
“What the fuck?” he practically shouts, shoving Murdock off and away. Too hard, really, and the pilot wasn’t ready for it, so he lands on his ass a few feet away, head down and body starting to shake, like a kicked puppy, Face thinks, but he can’t stop himself, he just can’t. “What the fuck are you doing, Murdock?”
The pilot stands up, clenches a fist, lip between his teeth to keep it from quivering, fist clenching in his pocket, on the hem of his hawaiian shirt. “Go home, Peck!” he snaps in a tone Face didn’t know he possesses, and vanishes back into the house.
It take Face a few seconds, after the anger washes out of his bloodstream, after he calms down just a bit, a few seconds after the slider slams shut, a few seconds to realize that there were tears in the other man’s eyes.
And then he feels like an asshole, because his brain automatically presents him with something about gay guys and feelings and doesn’t that make way too much sense? Well, fuck, Face thinks, and knows he should apologize, leave, go fuck something in the C-cup range and ask for a transfer to another unit, but he can’t get up.
He can’t do anything
He can’t make his hard-on go away, either.
Dammit.
Elbows hit knees and his hair tangle up in his hair and everything really sucks for a while.
+++++
The lieutenant’s surprised that nothing happens. BA doesn’t come out to threaten him, Hannibal isn’t yelling at him. There’s... nothing.
Face isn’t sure how long he’s out there on Hannibal’s deck before he gives up and goes back inside. He needs to grab his car keys, get the hell out of here, leave them to... whatever it is they do, and he doesn’t even glance over at BA and Murdock and Hannibal, where they’re lounging in the living room.
He can't look.
The sofa he crashed on last night is unoccupied, and he dropped his keys under it somewhere, he just knows it...
“Lieutenant!”
It’s barked. An order. Face freezes automatically, and then thinks, fuck that. He’s not taking any of that right now. Not from a... and another wave of shame washes over him. “What is it, boss?” Where are those damn keys?
“You owe Murdock an apology.”
He’s got the fob in hand, thank god, and stands up. “He kissed me, not the other way around.”
“You still owe him an apology.”
“For what?” Face demands, angry again, because Hannibal is not pulling this shit on him right now. “He sexually assaulted me, boss!”
And all the air goes out of the room.
They’re all staring at him, Hannibal in disbelief, BA in pure fury, and Murdock, oh no, Murdock...
His hands open, and there’s something sinking fast in his stomach, and Face knows, just knows, that there’s no way he can fix this. Still, he takes one step towards his friend, and then another. “Buddy, I’m sorry, you know I don’t...”
“I already told you, Faceman,” Murdock says in that same voice from before but worse, much much worse. “Go home. Clear you’re too good to hang ‘round a bunch of fags.” And then he’s gone again, just a little too quick, and BA’s gone with him, after him, and it’s just Face and Hannibal.
He really expects the boss to start yelling. Nothing like that, though. What comes is worse.
“Happy yet, Face? Insulted everyone enough yet? Can you go home, secure in the knowledge that you’re a real man...”
“... boss, I didn’t mean...”
“Don’t interrupt me, kid! Not right now!”
Yeah, he’s really done it this time. Hurt his best friend, insulted his boss, offended all of them... but he can still feel Murdock’s lips on his, and he can’t apologize, so there’s no way he’s ever going to feel that again, and why is that sad?
Why the fuck is that sad?
What is wrong with him?
“He loves you, you know.”
“Not helping, boss.”
“Loves you like a brother, Face. But he’s always respected your boundaries.” Hannibal sighs a little. “We all have. It’s not his fault you found out. This wasn’t forced on you.”
We all have...
Face likes his earlier plan, the one about leaving, never coming back, leaving the team, leaving it all behind. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that. And it’s worked pretty well so far.
But Hannibal’s between him and the door, curiously not saying anything now as Face’s hand tightens down around his keys. And he realizes that Hannibal probably knows what he wants to do, what he’s going to do, because he’s been with Hannibal for four years, and the man knows him better than anybody else, better than anyone ever has, better than he knows himself, and he feels sick at the thought of leaving, but what other option does he have?
What else can he possibly do?
“Why are you running, Face?”
It’s not Hannibal’s angry voice. That’s... disconcerting. “You can’t throw this on me and expect me to be okay with it.”
“Fair enough.” Wait, what? “Why flip out?”
“It’s... it’s...” and the lieutenant buries his face in his hands. There’s something trying to come to the surface, something terrible that’s going to destroy him, and Hannibal’s going to have it out. He has to get out of here before that happens. “I don’t know.”
“You a homophobe, Face?”
“No...”
“You think we deserve your righteous indignation?”
“No, jeez, boss...”
And Hannibal’s voice drops even lower, low and deep and almost... almost sensual. “You enjoy it, trying to prove that you didn’t?”
Face tries to snap back at that, but he can’t.
Oh god, he can’t.
“No?”
“I thought better of you, kid,” Hannibal says softly. “I told you, a long time ago, never to lie to me. You remember?”
“Yeah,” he says, and wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He does remember that day. Greatest goddamn day of his life, the anticipation of getting to serve under the legend, learn from him, and looking back at it now, the first day of the only real relationship he’s ever had in his life, the start of something really good that’s crumbling apart around him now. “Yeah, I remember, Hannibal.”
“Well, you’re lying to me right now, so you can leave.” The detachment in everything Hannibal’s saying, the coldness, the way he moves away and leans up against the wall, arms crossed... Face shivers. “Get the hell out of my house, lieutenant.”
And there it all goes.
“Can you apologize to him for me?”
“I don’t think I can fix that particular mess for you, lieutenant.”
Face already knows it's over, and the colonel's tone just confirms it, so he goes for the door knob. Everything seizes up right then, the image of Murdock knocked back, almost scared, in tears, all because he can’t admit that it might, because it might have been... “It’s just too much."
"Too much?"
"I’ll be by on Monday for a signature.”
The shift in the older man is slight, barely noticeable, and Face only picks up on it because he’s spent the last four years learning to predict this man’s needs, figuring out what he wants and when and how, a task he’s never hated. He's loved it, actually.
Absolutely loved it.
“What are you running from, Face?”
“... nothing.” But he can’t turn the knob.
“You’re running from something.”
No, no, no, nonono, no. “No, Hannibal, really, I’m not.”
“I think you are.” Face tries to answer, but Hannibal just keeps going. “I think you’re afraid.”
“What... what would I be afraid of?” Face manages, cringing either at how his voice cracks like a teenager’s, or possibly at the way Hannibal peels himself off the wall, circles in front of him, starts advancing. The way Face has to back up. The way Hannibal’s following, pushing him back. “I’m not a homophobe...”
“Oh, I know you’re straight, Face. All those girls I’ve watched you go through, all the girls you’ve fucked, the ones I’ve had to watch you fuck, heard, on those nights we were on a mission and you thought I was asleep. You’ve got nothing to prove to me about how man you are, kid...”
There’s something hungry in Hannibal’s face, the lieutenant realizes. Something like how he was looking at BA earlier, when he kissed him. Like that. More intense.
“... I know damn well what you like, kid. Know everything about you...”
A hell of a lot more intense.
“... and I know this about you too, Face...”
The younger man’s back hits a wall, and the colonel lays a hand on his shoulder, a hand that’s moving up his neck, fingertips brushing his cheek, into his hair. He’s scared. For the first time in four years, he’s scared. Of Hannibal.
“...you’ve never enjoyed being in control.”
Face opens his mouth to protest, the very suggestion of that driving far too deep, but the boss just lays a finger on his lips and closes it for him. “You enjoyed Murdock taking the lead, kissing you like that. You enjoyed him.”
“Hannibal...” he pleads, and another elbow hit down beside his ear. “Hannibal, please...”
“Don’t worry, kid,” says a man he barely recognizes, one he’s trusted with his life, one he’s always believed he’d die for, whispers, low and hot against his skin. “You’ll enjoy this.”
“Enjoy... what?” he says, mouth dry.
“This, lieutenant.”
And then, then, Hannibal's kissing him.
And Face can't stop him.
It should be horrible, but it’s not. Or maybe the fact that it’s not makes it so. Face can’t quite decide on that. It’s hard to think.
Nothing’s getting through.
Nothing but the feel of this.
Face tries to resist at first, tries to move or shove the colonel off or push away. But this isn’t Murdock, and Hannibal knows all his tricks, and Face can’t do anything to stop it except pinch his lips together and not think, not think, not think about it.
Then his body betrays him again, and parts, opens, giving Hannibal what he wants, and it’s almost like Murdock, with that first little swipe of tongue. Like Murdock but different. Murdock was sweet, Murdock was asking, and Hannibal is neither. Hannibal’s kiss is demanding, rough and hard. A hand’s holding Face’s head immobile, twisted up almost painfully in his hair, as that mouth attacks his own, as Hannibal’s solid, muscular bulk holds him fast against the wall and takes exactlay what he...
No, Face realizes, and groans as that tongue sweeps deeper in, playing. It’s not about what Hannibal wants, not exactly, not really.
It’s what he wants.
And that...
He somehow manages to leverage an arm between them, gain a few inches to find oxygen, try not to panic. Hannibal’s eyes are watching him, the blue there almost completely vanished into the black of the older man’s arousal, and there’s something hard pressing against his own thigh.
Hannibal releases his head but doesn’t move away, doesn’t lift away. “I’ve waited years to touch you like this,” he says, almost meditatively. “Years, Face.”
The lieutenant doesn’t trust his voice right now.
“About fucking time, too,” the boss growls, and those sinfully talented lips are back, attacking his ear, jaw, throat, chest, everywhere, hands roaming, Hannibal, Hannibal everywhere, moving down, the top button of his jeans popping...
“No,” he gasps as his brain catches up with what’s going on, and now he’s scared again, the momentarily distraction of all that, just a minute ago, draining away. If Hannibal does this, there’ll be no going back. None at all.
What will that mean?
“Hannibal, stop.”
“What, kid,” the boss says in an almost bored tone and yanks his pants and boxers off in one smooth, practiced flick, simultaneously dropping to his knees and curling a hand around Face’s, goddamn it, burgeoning erection. “This make me less of a man to you?”
“Please...”
“Shut up, lieutenant,” he snaps, and jams Face against the wall, and the younger man can feel his abs fluttering against a rough palm just as he’s sucked into a warm, wet, wonderful space.
Face’s hips buck of their own accord, and his head hits the wall. A gutteral sound, more chaotic than a groan, rips loose from his throat as Hannibal tongues around his cockhead, swirling for a moment before taking him in all the way. Part of his brain, the conscious, sane part, the part that’s still screaming at him to run because you’re not gay, goddamn it, is wondering where the boss’s gag reflex is.
The suction’s heavenly, and Hannibal definitely knows what he’s doing with his tongue and won’t let him do anything, slams him back into the wall every time Face moves his hips, and a hand’s coming up to roll his balls, and it’s good, really good, too good, too much, too fast, too fast, far too...
Horrified, Face feels his stomach draw up and his balls tighten and everything go hot inside him and not even looking down at Hannibal, locking eyes with the man sucking his cock, is enough to stop it.
And he’s crying out softly, hands clenched tight against the paint, tears springing from his eyes. All that pressure rushes out of him and into Hannibal, the colonel swallowing every drop of his shame, and Face just fucking knows that this is going to do him in.
This is the absolute end of him.
End of everything.
A hand’s stroking his hip, around back, closing, tugging a little, and a hand’s wiping the tears away. “That was very, very good, Face,” Hannibal murmurs and kisses him on the cheek. “That was very good.”
Another tug, and Hannibal’s got him off the wall, moving him.
“Boss,” he says, inarticulate and thick, unable to block the desperation out of his voice. The aftershocks of orgasm are coursing through his system. The orgasm this man just gave him. Wonderful, hard and fast and blinding, satisfying like he hasn’t had in a long time. “Boss, what are you...”
“Shut up,” the colonel growls again, teeth worrying his ear, and tugs harder.
He can either stumble or follow. Face can’t hold himself upright, so he does both, Hannibal manhandling him out of his pants and across the room. Bare feet drag on soft carpet, and Fce realizes the boss’s grip isn’t quite absolute, that he really could fight this if he wanted to, he can get away, he can...
But Hannibal’s mouth is on his own, that hard, rough kiss back, claiming him, taking away any option to run, and Face pushes back against it just a little anyway. Tastes something there that can only be him, his own essence lingering on the boss’ tongue, and another shiver runs through him.
“So fucking beautiful,” and Hannibal licks up his neck, nipping right along Face’s jaw, “you look so fucking beautiful like this...”
“Hannibal, please...” Face is aware that they’re moving down the the hall, that Hannibal’s leading him somewhere. Somewhere... and he can’t go there. This is bad enough. He can’t stop the panic. “I need to go, boss, c’mon...”
“I know exactly what you need, kid. Always know what you need...”
There’s a silent question in there, one that almost pushes through the shuttering black of his own fear, one that almost calms him completely - the boss is asking for trust. The same trust Face has willingly given him on four years of missions, four years of bloodshed and violence and cold and reeking clothes, and Hannibal’s always, always brought him home, seen him back whole, and Face can almost extend that, he can almost believe that Hannibal really does know...
But Hannibal’s shoving him none too gently through a door, and he can see the hallway behind him, see the living room where he just lost part of himself, something he’ll never be able to get back. The thought of that...and a surge of anger cuts gets him out of the boss’ grasp and around and there Murdock and BA are, curled up around one another on Hannibal’s king-sized bed, whatever they were doing forgotten in open-mouthed stares.
Pants lost, the boss running a hand down his shoulder, pulling him back, into all the warmth and security that is Hannibal, cheeks flushed, his gay, gay friends staring at the whole of the scene... oh yeah, Face wants to die.
“Hannibal...”
“Shut up, Face.”
“Bossman?” Murdock asks, pushing away from Bosco and scooting forward on the bed a little. “Bossman, what’s goin’ on?”
But Hannibal doesn’t say anything, just hurtles Face onto the bed, face first, and the lieutenant’s so, so grateful there’s nothing resembling a footboard on this thing. He scrambles up a little, BA and Murdock carefully avoiding touching him as he scrunches his body back up a little further on the mattress.
“Boss?”
Hannibal pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion, down one arm and tosses it away. Face has seen him naked before, that rugged expanse of fine silver hair and scars and muscle and skin permanently tanned, all his years of missions, of fighting, recorded on his body, and he just stands there for a second, clearly thinking, his thinking face on, and nods to BA.
“You boys get him ready.”
Behind him, Face can hear them shift a little, and then BA clears his throat. “Boss, I think we should...”
And Hannibal’s on top of him in a heart’s beat, which is terrifying, because Face’s heart is racing hard and fast right now. He leans down over him, taking his weight on a hand, and breathes on Face’s cock. Soft as it is from Hannibal’s earlier... attention, it still twitches.
“Get him ready, BA.”
That’s an order.
That’s going to be followed.
Motherfucker.
Face thinks for a moment that maybe he can argue his way out of this, that he can convince BA that this is a really, really bad idea, that Murdock’s not actually going to help Hannibal do this.
But that’s not going to happen.
BA’s dragging him all the way up, tossing him on his stomach beside Murdock, divesting him of his polo at the same time. The big guy’s angry.
Tempered anger, maybe, but still.
Angry.
The cooler air of the room hits his skin, flushed with humiliation, everything completely exposed now, totally naked, and BA balls his shirt up and tosses it away, leaving a heavy hand on the small of his back, anchoring him down, nothing gentle about any of it.
That’s fine. From this angle, shoved back into the pillows, Face doesn’t have look up at the pilot, who’s probably still pissed, still upset.
No sympathy coming.
But that sinking feeling is taking the lieutenant straight to the bottom of the ocean and he doesn’t think he really deserves it anyway. He’s not fighting this. Squirming, sure, wriggling, maybe, but he’s not really struggling. Some part of him knows he should be, some part wants to, but he can’t. Maybe he’s in shock or something, he tells himself, and just can’t move.
Yeah, sure.
BA rolls off to the side, still keeping the pressure on, and Face hears a drawer open and shut again. That’s a fresh chill, right there, realizing what the corporal must be going for. A soft touch on his shoulder distracts him, and he twists his neck in the direction of it.
Murdock, mouth hard but twitching ever so slightly, just watching him.
He lets his face fall into the quilt. “I’m so sorry, buddy...”
“No you ain’t,” comes the cold response, but that touch on his shoulder stays, thumb tracing the outline of his collarbone.
“You never sorry,” BA grunts, coming back over and cups one of his ass cheeks, squeezing lightly. Starts exploring, playing almost, the rough calloused palm so, so good against the bare skin, Murdock claiming a larger and larger section of Face’s back, neck, trailing up into his hair as BA’s sweeps get firmer, more demanding. Both of them, all that contact, and Face can’t help the little moan that escapes right as a finger slides right between, right up, settling into pattern right around his...
BA pushes in, dry, not far but far too far, and Face’s entire body jerks
And that Face does fight.
Something snaps at the sensation, trying to wrench his body back under his own control, almost getting it as he’s smashed fully into the mattress by a man who’s got both weight and leverage on him. Doesn’t stop him though, not the way BA’s just kind of throwing him around, how he’s straddling his back, those roughed hands pinching closed on his wrists and deliberately pushing down. No, that adrenalin’s going full-bore now, and he can’t quite stop, can’t get off his stomach, if Face could just do that he might be able to...
And then long fingers wrap through his hair hard enough to make his scalp go tight, and pull him up, just a little. “Stop squirmin’, Faceman,” Murdock whispers in his ear, faces close again. “John’s jus’ tryin’ to help you out.”
He bites his lip and goes still. Murdock didn’t sound mad, exactly, that time, did he?
“Murdock, this is not helping!” he hisses back and buck up against BA’s still-clothed thighs, tight and oppressive around his stomach. This shouldn’t be happening. “Why are you...”
BA gives him one more good squeeze, like he’s warning him or something, and then Murdock slides around to take his place on Face’s back, holding him down as the corporal moves back. Face can’t see what’s going on back there, but his legs are being forced apart, held open by what feels like knees, that finger back where it was before.
Slick, this time.
There’s no waiting now, no more touching, just that finger, the next, working into Face’s body, turning just a little. There’s never been this before, never been anything like this before. It’s... but before Face’s brain can quantify that feeling into something he can consciously describe to himself, he makes a sound he doesn’t recognize, pain or fear or that hideous arousal, that unfair, unfair response he just can’t seem to turn off.
“Oh... fuck...Bosco, come on, please don’t...”
Murdock just jerks the lieutenant's head up, throwing his neck up in a painful angle. They moved during Face’s little struggle, and there Hannibal is, lounging shirtless against the wall, the same posture, the same expression, as before when he was watching Face leave. There’s something carelessly sensual in the man right now, power coiled up and waiting to be loosed. He cocks his head a little, and there’s another finger in him now, three, painful as the muscles loosen, as BA opens him up, makes everything ready...
“What’s wrong, Face?” Hannibal asks, like he’s asking about the color of the carpet.
The lieutenant knows his eyes are wide, and the whimpers are coming faster now with BA’s leisurely progress. He knows what’s happening, that Hannibal is... well, that this is probably going to hurt, and hurt worse than it should anyway, nothing to do with the boss’ size and everything to do with the man himself, if Hannibal does this.
How could Hannibal do this to him? How is the boss making Face's own body betray him like this?
“Why...”
Hannibal just unsnaps the first button on his own jeans, then the second, on down. At the same time, BA hits something deep down, far up, something white-hot and completely new, sending electricity racing under his skin. Murdock’s holding his head up, and Face shudders as BA strokes it again. And again. And again, as Hannibal’s slowly letting the jeans fall off his hips, come away, his impressive cock springing free. The lieutenant feels another rush of fear, new, fresh, and Hannibal’s pacing over towards him...
The boss drops down, so they’re face to face on the edge of the bed. Murdock’s hand is gone, replaced by Hannibal’s own on his cheek again, and BA’s hand is gone, replaced with nothing but a curious emptiness that Face doesn’t, doesn’t like at all. They’ve moved away.
He braces himself for what’s probably coming next, but then Hannibal does something he wasn’t expecting.
“My boy,” the boss murmurs and plays with his hair again, something like wonder in the words, the touch. Gentle and unyielding both. “My beautiful, strong, stubborn boy, you never did understand, did you, just what you are to me...”
Face grabs out for him, and Hannibal lets himself be caught. The lieutenant swallows and tentatively brushes the line of the boss’ throat. Bare skin, nothing between them, he can see the naked desire in the other man’s eyes, more than just lust, need, and when was the last time he saw that in anyone? On anyone? For him, something real, something worthwhile, something more than an empty screw...
And Face doesn’t believe what comes out of his mouth, what wells up from deep, deep down, from that heat BA was spreading through him, from Murdock’s warmth, everything suddenly on fire for this man, right in front of him.
“What do you mean?” He tried to laugh. Fails. Chokes a little.
“Do you want me to show you?”
He licks his lips, steeling himself, hoping like hell he can say, but that’s not what comes out.
Not at all.
“...yes...”
A dry, thick, scratchy word, barely a word, but his, and he can’t take it back.
Not with Hannibal smiling like that. That... damn pleased with himself smile, triumphant, and the boss whispers his own reply against Face's lips.
“Good.”
The boss is on him, the time missing from between when he’s kneeling on the floor next to the bed and when he’s pressed, full-length, against Face’s back. The lieutenant doesn’t know how Hannibal did that, and a growing part of him doesn’t care. Not when teeth graze his neck. Not when that strong body rolls against his. Not when Hannibal’s shoving under him and pulling him up, hands and knees, ass to hips.
Not when that massive cock slides up his thigh, hard, undeniable.
Not when the boss grabs hold of his hips.
Not when he groans and lets his head drop, shaking a little as his arms fight to hold him steady
“This,” Hannibal growls, low and dangerous and exciting.
“This,” or something like that, as the man behind him runs a hand up Face’s spine, pushing his thumb down between each vertebra, and it almost hurts enough to distract the younger man.
Almost.
But how did women do this, the panic asks him? How did women just give up and give over and surrender? And, in that panic, Face doesn’t think he can do that, he doesn’t think he can do that at all, he can’t...
“This is what you want,” he says, and Face tries to calm down. This is Hannibal. He trusts Hannibal. Man knows him better than he knows himself, and part of himself is bucking back, wanting more pressure, wanting to let go... “It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
Oh, god, the colonel’s fingers are right at his entrance, mimicking BA from earlier, firmer, rougher. Rough words, too. Rough and terrible and wonderful, a steady litany.
“Always needed to be here, under me, ready for me, so ready...”
Burning with shame, Face can’t deny the effect that voice, those words, are having on him. His own neglected erection is swollen to the point of pain, but he can’t lift up to take care of it. Hannibal’s behind him now, obviously up on his knees and his cock’s sliding between Face’s cheeks, like BA’s hand but... more, so much more than that, and he suddenly finds himself wondering what this is going to feel like, how it’s going to be to have that driving into him, to be laid bare like this, taken, owned...
“Let me hear it, kid.” Hannibal’s voice reaches him somehow, through all that, like a lamp in the darkness. “Let me hear you tell me how much you need this.”
“I-I don’t...” he stutters, one last ditch attempt, but they both know he’s lost this argument. Anyway, Hannibal’s got a finger in him now, stroking right over his prostate and short-circuiting his protest. Melting him. BA was good. But this is Hannibal, Hannibal, the first person who ever cared for him, saw him as anything more, pushed him, demanded things of him...
“Oh, Face, you really, really do.”
“Boss, please...”
He’s not sure what he’s asking for, for Hannibal to stop or for Hannibal to keep going, if he wants to run or wants to give up, give over, but then the moment's past. Decision made.
There’s something driving into him and he screams at the breach, at the force and the stretch and the edge of pain, his body fighting the intrusion. Driving into him, splitting him open, filling him with a heat he’s never known before, and it all feels like Hannibal and dimly through the fading understanding that anything else in the world exists, Face realizes.
Somehow, it doesn’t matter if he couldn’t figure this thing out, didn’t know what he was asking for. Hannibal knows. Hannibal answered it for him.
...Hannibal was right.
A wave of relief washes through him, and those hands jam him back hard, all the way down, impaling him completely. Face feels smooth muscle against his own, ass flush to Hannibal’s hips, just like before, but so much better. So much better, because the boss is inside him now.
Inside him, filing him up, taking him, claiming...
“Exactly where you belong. Where I belong, kid, buried in you like this...” Hannibal’s grip is shaking, whether from emotion or the force of staying still, Face doesn’t know. He shouldn’t. Face wants him to move. For some reason he doesn’t quite understand, he needs Hannibal to start moving. Needs it. Desperately.
Now.
“You feel that?”
Hannibal thrusts lightly and Face groans. He can’t think, can’t, but it’s okay, he doesn’t need to. There’s only one answer for that. “Yeah... John... I feel you.” He’s never used Hannibal’s given name before. It seems right to use it now, and the boss must appreciate it, because he groans.
Loud.
Hands do a rough circuit of sweat-slick back, resting again on hips. Hannibal leans forward a little. “I feel you too, Templeton,” and the way he say Face’s real name, almost like a prayer... “Feel everything.”
And then he straightens, tightens.
But he doesn't start to move.
Face whines a little, flexes back without really meaning to. All that pressure... it’s going to kill him if the boss doesn’t start moving. “Hanni... John, John, come on...”
“Shh, it’s okay, Temp. You doin’ good.”
It’s not Hannibal, and Face finally pulls his head up, remembers where he is, who else is here, whose eyes are fixed on him, and the fear’s back. It’s back hard, and if Hannibal hadn’t just grabbed him around his waist and held him fast, he thinks he would have bolted at that.
Murdock, Murdock’s watching him, not quite warm, still guarded, sprawled out on his back and head thrown back on the quilt, less than a foot from his own. BA’s over him on his elbows, chest to chest, very, very close, not smiling but not angry either. They’re both naked now, that some step in the evening Face managed to miss, and they’re both watching him.
Some kind of agreement’s being made right now, Face realizes. Some kind of arrangement. If he does the wrong thing, he’s going to shatter everything apart.
And that can’t happen.
He tenses, which clenches his interior muscles tight around Hannibal, buried inside him, and the colonel groans. Starts rocking, just a little, in and out, slow and easy, shaking from what be an obvious effort not to just fuck him into the mattress. And thinking about that, Face groans.
His body's screaming for it. For Hannibal to really let loose, take him, show him...
BA’s the one who spoke, and BA’s the one who reaches out now and traces some nonsense pattern on the lieutenant’s cheek. “Real good, Temp.” And normally he’s so quiet.
Warmth rushes through him
Face turns into that palm for a moment, and looks back down at Murdock. Takes a deep breath, tries to speak, but all that comes out is a groan. He’s not capable of words right now. Not with that gigantic cock, so deep...
“Ain’t about you’n’me right now, Temp,” Murdock whispers, and silences him with a finger to his lips.
“Nobody gettin’ punished,” BA adds. Smiling at last.
Face nods, and as if Hannibal was waiting for this little moment to realy start going, everything changes.
Gentleness gives way slowly, crumbling The thrust that hits his prostate is hard and unmerciful, and with a cry, Face falls forward, down to his elbows, his hands refusing to hold him up any long. His body’s shaking. It changes the angle and Hannibal groans a little bit as he’s pulled out, Face wincing a little too, even at that small loss, but it’s back in an instant, just as hard. Hannibal’s splitting him open, driving into his very heart, and Face is making far, far too much noise, but he can’t help himself.
It feels too good.
It feels so, so fucking good.
A matching moan beneath him and Face smiles, actually smiles, at the thought that BA must have entered the pilot. And Murdock cranes his neck upward for an awkward, awkward kiss, as soft as before, but much more desperate now, much more needy, and even in this strange configuration, Face tries to give him what he wants. Lets him take it.
He brushes his hands through soft, dark hair and holds on to that sweetness as a stay against the brutal pounding, the ache that he can’t decide is pain or pleasure. One of Murdock's hands reaches up to fist in his hair, locking them together.
Their whimpers combine between sealed lips, only escaping when the colonel tugs particularly hard and separates them. Face can't tell what BA's doing to Murdock, but it seems to be less violent. He doesn't care right then.
Hannibal’s pulling the lieutenant’s ass against that impossibly hard flesh, guiding him as Face frantically starts thrusting back, trying to find a steady pace. But the boss isn’t giving it to him, everything uneven and unpredictable, out of his control, and once Face realizes that, he groans into Murdock’s mouth and stops fighting, stops trying to help, and lets himself be swept away in the sensation.
It’s not long after that, half a dozen thrusts or less, and the boss grabs around his waist and pulls him off Murdock, off that cock, and throws him on his back against the pillows. He’s empty, all that hot flesh gone, his back, his ass, and Face whines a little in protest.
But just as fast, Hannibal’s over him, palms on the younger man’s knees, shoving them up to his chest, and growls, “hold them there.” Face can feel his cheeks burning at the request but brings trembling hands up to wrap around the back of his knees, and Hannibal’s back inside, pistoning into him immediately, no time given or needed now, no more adjustments necessary.
Face couldn't stop Hannibal now if his life depended on it. Wouldn't.
It’s different, just as good, the boss' straining abdominals rubbing rough and hard against Face's own long-neglected cock where it's trapped between them, the graze of chest hair against his own, hands gripping no less hard, different pressure points, different stimulations, and there’s that spot inside of him, Hannibal’s cock grazing it once more...
“... oh god, John, John, right there...”
“You like that?” And Hannibal nails that spot again, pushing through and past it, and all Face can feel is that. The world grays away. It’s just Hannibal, taking him higher and higher, his body burning for release, and dimly, he can hear the boss whispering to him, beautiful and fucking tight and mine, what you were fucking meant for, stroking his neck with a sweaty hand and kissing him in between words.
The boss is close, just one more hard thrust, savaging Face’s mouth with something far more primal than a kiss, drives in harder than all before and locks up inside him. Something hot and smooth and triumphant rushes into him, and Hannibal’s roaring against his neck. Hot words and teeth, nothing Face can discern, and on the far side of that, nearly simultaneously, he feels skin breaks on his shoulder, just a little blood, and it very nearly sends him over the edge.
But then there’s the best of all, something Face would never have through before today that he would hear Hannibal say to him, something he’d never known he needed to hear, something so delicious as to wipe every other consideration away, that little come for me, love, want to see you come for me and he does.
Harder than he ever has in his life.
Spilling in hot, long bursts that never seem to end, coating his chest and Hannibal’s in his release, and he goes limp, feeling like he’s been fucked within a inch of his life. He barely registers those strong, strong hands easing him down from it all, holding him close, murmuring reassurances, and his last conscious thought for a while, before he blacks clean out, was how Hannibal knew this about him, anyway...
“How you feel, darlin’?”
Face feels his eyes flutter open, the color coming back into the room. Outlines, details, and not everything all at once. Not the part about Hannibal fucking him through the bed, Murdock kissing him, BA’s soft encouragement. Hannibal, BA, Murdock, naked, watching him so intensely? That he gets.
Or doesn't.
So the reaction, it’s unfortunately automatic.
He doesn’t mean to scramble back into the wall like his does, knocking pillows out of the way in an attempt to get away from Hannibal, who’s kneeling between his still-spread legs. From BA, rubbing the pilot’s stomach. Murdock, who’s plastered against his side, tickling a hand down his ribs, who just kissed him.
It’s ungainly, his lack of immediate recognition. Maybe the most ungainly thing he’s done in a long, long time. So ungainly, actually, that he falls off the bed.
He doesn’t want that. It’s like everything was trying to snap back into place, old patterns trying to reassert themselves, return to the way they were. Face doesn’t want that, and the momentary it’s already fading as his breath starts to slow. He just had the best sex of his life. With a man. With three men, men he loves. If he’d just had a second, just needs a second...
But it’s too late. The lieutenant can hear the bed creak as weight’s removed from the box springs and there’s another one of those heart-wrenching “you’re an asshole, Peck”s thrown at him and the bedroom door slams so hard the floor shakes.
The response is swift and furious
“Face...”
“So help me god, el-tee, you hurt that crazy fool and I'm gonna...”
He shoves himself up, grabbing for a handful of the bedclothes to help leverage himself. Face is a little surprised by how shaky he is, but his legs cooperate, and he’s out after the pilot. He has to get his buddy before he gets to the front door, he thinks. Doesn’t really consider the fact that Murdock’s naked. Hasn’t stopped him before.
And he manages to pin the pilot just before he turns the knob. Slams him into the wood with a shoulder and grabs for a wrist, holding him there. Murdock struggles a little, gets that hand free, and it’s ungainly, just like Face falling off the bed, the skirmish that ensues.
They both end up on the floor, and Murdock gets one good punch in before everything gets too confused for either of them to inflict much damage. Not that Face wants to. But it’s sort of instinct as this point, and Face has a few pounds on Murdock, and he’s not pissed, so he ends up over the top of him, holding him bodily down, trying to keep as much of his weight on the infuriated pilot until he stops struggling and just goes limp.
Murdock rolls his head to the side and clenches a fist. “Whadda ya want, Faceman? Ya already made you point, you don’t... d-don’t want...”
His heart really is going to shatter apart if the man under him keeps talking like that, so Face does the only thing he can think of; he turns his friend’s head until they’re facing each other and shuts him up with a sloppy, inelegant, hurried kiss.
Murdock won’t kiss him back, though.
“Please, Murdock, buddy,” Face whispers, pulling back just a little, letting his hands stray into that hair. All the smooth, lean muscle under him, and all he can focus on is this hair. It might be his favorite thing in the world, he decides, and he doesn’t want to lose it now that he's finally felt it between his fingers, so beautiful, Murdock. “C’mon, I didn’t mean...”
“Didn’t mean what? Didn’t mean to let Hannibal fuck you, tell you he loved you?”
Did Hannibal say that? Face freezes, remembering that word being thrown out, come for me, love, and Murdock seems to slump in defeat.
“I get it, Face. You’re straight and there’s nuthin’ we... nuthin’ I can...” Murdock sighs, and looks away again. “Now let me up.”
“HM,” he says, hoping like hell he hasn’t fucked this all up, and places his hand right over his friend’s heart, feeling it drum against his palm. Struggles to find the words. “HM, buddy, I... I don’t know if... sexual orientation, whatever, I love you guys...”
“You’re lyin’.”
“”No, I love you guys. Hannibal and BA and...”
“And me?”
He strokes the pilot’s scalp again, wanting to fist-punch in victory as those sea-colored eyes turn to meet his.
“Yeah, Murdock, I love you. It’s so much to take in, and I didn’t mean...I wasn't try to...fuck, buddy, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, can you ever...”
Then Murdock gets a gleam in his eye and he surges up, snapping a kiss before Face can say anything else, and rolls them both over, settling back on the lieutenant’s thighs. Traces a circle around his belly button, just smiling back.
"You're a meany-face, Face."
"Yeah, but I'm your, uh, meany-face... right?"
"Damn straight," Murdock drawls and leans forward for another kiss.
Face rubs a hand up the leg holding him down, so strong, feels that little thrill again. Being with somebody who could physically overpower him, seize control, wonders what it will feel like when Murdock takes him, wonders if they can do that right the hell now, wonders if they all forgive him for being such a fucking idiot about this.
But he doesn't get his kiss. BA’s hauling them both up and Hannibal’s muttering something about damn kids these days and the necessity of showers after this kind of activity, and Face has to wait until they’re all under the spray and then he gets something better.
Murdock pushes him up against the slick tile and pushes in and BA helps him wrap his legs around Murdock's waist, dark lips moving to raise another love bite on Face's neck. "Love you, man," the corporal murmurs, an all Face can do is groan and hold on tighter to the pilot wrapped around him.
The lieutenant feels a deep swell of gratitude for the man thrusting up into him, the second ravaging his neck. Gratitude they don't hate him. Gratitude that Hannibal knew him well enough to know not to ask the question Face had been too scared to ask himself.
Grateful Hannibal showed him instead.
Showed him this, right here.
Hannibal’s grinning at him, like he’s making plans again, for the four of them, like this. Face throws him a thumbs up, and lets his head hit the wall, panting hard again already.
Answer enough.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: dub-con to the extreme edge of the dub
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme
There have been a few excellent fics around where Face is reluctant/oblivious to the fact that he really enjoys batting for both sides and its made me yearn for something more...
Namely, H,M & BA are already in a 3 way relationship and want to bring Face onboard. Whren he finds out he is not at all keen, can be even a bit homophobic about if author wants and resists all gentle attempts of encouragement.
So for whatever reason (alcohol, frustration, just knowing face better than he knows himself) the guys decide to do it anyway.
To start with Face is not at all happy - I'd love it to be quite dark and right on the edge of non-con - but as all three of them work on him, I'd like him to realise that they are right, and by the end he is loving it.
Extra bonus points if writer gets in some orgasm denial and gets Face actually *begging* them to finish him off...
Must be a happy ending though, don't want poor Face gang raped... :(
(Well - that would be another prompt! )
*runs off to hide under a rock*
When Face finds out about the other three’s relationship, he promptly freaks out. And Hannibal sets him straight.
If Face was being honest with himself, he’d always known there was something going on between the two of them.
It just... it just wasn’t something he’d wanted to see.
Or think about.
But it was too late for that. Too late for him to go back and not see what he had seen this morning, after he’d woken up early after crashing on Hannibal’s sofa, yet another night of company drinking and debauchery taking him down. He’d heard it, of course, unmistakable, that sound, but he figured it was just some girl that BA had brought to the party. Too late, not to have passed by the half-open bedroom door and sneaked an accidental peek in.
Not after that.
Seeing them together, Murdock with his hands wrapped around the bedpost, leaning forward into it, on his knees, entire body shaking with the force of that full 230 pounds of solid bulk driving into him. BA, eyes closed and mouth slack, sweat beading along his brow, hands tight on the pilot’s pale waist. Murdock, moaning like a whore with every thrust, both of them so focused, so lost in each other, in what they were doing...
And Face fled for the shower.
He tried to block it from his mind, but it wouldn’t go away. Those two, together, like that. Wouldn’t leave his mind, and the worst part about it was that the only word Face could come up with to describe it wasn’t gross or horrifying or disgusting or any of the things he’d always thought it would be, knew, knew it would be.
Erotic.
That was the only word that came to mind.
“So what’s the problem, lieutenant?”
The younger man stares at Hannibal, aware his jaw is probably hanging open and not able to close it. “Really? Really? I mean, really? Are you seriously asking me what the problem is?”
Hannibal nods, looks at the cigar he’s slowly working away on, his face casually inscrutable. “Yeah kid, I’m seriously asking you what the problem is. Do you have a problem with this?”
“Fuck yes!” the lieutenant sputters. He hates saying it. Over the last year, BA and Murdock have become his friends, teammates... almost like brothers. And they’re screwing and it ruins all of that. Ruins everything.
He's lost them. Maybe he never had them, and something twists up inside him, thinking he's going to lose something good.
But he’s talking to Hannibal, their commander, and that obligates him to take action. And now those two are probably going to get a DADT discharge special, and that just totally...
“Why?”
It’s so calm and so even that it knocks Face completely off-kilter. “What do you mean, why?”
Hannibal’s puffing on his cigar. “It’s a fairly straightforward question, Face. Why does it bother you?”
“It’s...” and he can’t say it’s disgusting. He can’t. He can’t forget the way they’d looked together, so in synch, so together, can’t forget the horrible sinking feeling inside him either, everything, everything in his entire life screaming that there’s something wrong with it, but he can’t figure out what. Why. Just was. “Look, boss, I get that Murdock’s crazy and everything...”
And that gets him Hannibal’s cold, icy anger. “You think he’s gay because he’s insane?”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant, I just... it’s not okay, boss. It’s just fucking not, and it's your house, so I know you're going to get busted if this ever comes out and I'm just, I don't know...” and he trails off. He doesn't know what he wants to say.
The whole world's been turned upside down.
The boss takes another deep drag on his cigar, clearly winding up for one of those long, long lectures about everything that was wrong with Lieutenant Peck, and Face braces himself, literally, hanging on to the couch, when BA comes in from the front drive, where he was working on his latest car. Wait, why is BA working on his car at Hannibal’s place? Face realizes he’s never wondered about this, why he’s wondering about it now. They always spend the weekends over here, right?
That's just how it always works.
Nothing suspicious about that, right?
The big guy nods to them both, kicks his shoes off, and makes for the bathroom, but Hannibal gets in front of him and stops him cold.
Just a little close.
“BA,” Hannibal says lightly, “Face here has something that’s been troubling him. And frankly, I think we need to discuss it.”
Those dark eyes dart over to Face and back to Hannibal. “What is it, boss?”
“Face, tell him.”
“Boss...”
“Come on, Face. Get it out there.”
Face feels that sinking feeling again. Hannibal, trying to humiliate him. Shit. “Well, uh, this morning, I came back a little early from the gym and you two were, err...”
BA crosses his arms. “You gotta problem with that, prettyboy?”
Those eyes, boring into him, and Face can’t lift his head to meet them. “Well, uh, I guess...”
“I have a problem with it,” Hannibal says, and the lieutenant finds himself going cold again. There’s nothing good about that tone, dropping an octive, low and almost... sexy. The boss’ hand is still on BA’s chest, and oh, oh, dear sweet baby jesus, not... “I thought I told you two... never without me, Bosco.”
Face doesn’t want to look, but he can’t help it, can’t help it at all.
The boss, his boss, Hannibal, a fucking colonel for crissakes, actually has a hand resting right on the rise of BA’s hip, another playing around his neck, and he’s kissing him. Kissing him. In a way that can’t be interpreted as anything but possessive.
Oh, fuck no.
“Sorry, John,” BA murmurs as he pulls away, a kind of intimacy in his voice that sends shivers through Face’s entire body, something he knows, right then, he’s never felt with anyone. But it’s gay and it’s so, so wrong...isn’t it wrong? “Won’t happen again.”
“Good,” Hannibal growls, and BA cocks his head at Face for a moment, the boss’ hand still on him for a second more, and then he’s pulling away. “If you have a problem, lieutenant, you’re welcome to take it up the chain. I won’t stop you.”
“Always thought you were bi anyway, Faceman,” the corporal jokes, and that’s it, that’s all Face can take.
He practically throws himself off the sofa. “I’m going home, goddamn it.”
“Murdock’s doing lunch,” Hannibal calls after him.
Shit.
That means he has to stick around.
Shit.
“Fine,” he grumbles, and flops back down on the sofa, grabbing for the remote, and ignoring the both of them. Just a few hours, and he can get the hell out of here.
+++++
Face isn’t going to report them. Any of them. He isn’t capable of that.
He knows that much.
“Faceman, whassa’ matter? You ain’t so much as said hi to me today.”
He looks up from where he’s collapsed on the deck, untouched bowl of cereal by his side. He does this, sometimes, or sunbathes out here. But he’s got his shirt on because he can’t stand the thought of any them seeing him even half naked, not now, not ever again.
How is that going to work?
How is any of this ever going to work again?
How has it worked?
Motherfucker. He’s been naked in front of them before, shared a sleeping bag with Hannibal on that one mission that one time, shared beds, showered with them, and they’re all... jesus, they’re all...
And fuck, he though the pilot was still asleep. After that kind of... and Face curses himself for being such an ass about of all this. “Hi, buddy.”
“You okay?”
He goes back to his cereal. Concentrating very hard on making that heterogeneous mixture of milk and crispy little rice things and rainbow marshmallows into something smooth and even and... no, no, heterogeneous was good. Hetero. He swallows. “Fine.”
“No, really, Faceman, are you okay?”
There’s nothing but concern in that voice, but Face can’t respond to it. He can’t. He feels like he’s going to shatter apart as it is. “Murdock,” he says quietly, “you were taking it up the ass.”
His best friend, his very best friend, the man who just clicks in with everything else in his life like nobody else has, the first person he’s ever thought of as a brother, his gay best friend, blinks a few times. “Yeah?”
“Where’s the confusion, Murdock? It’s goddamn...”
“What, Face? You gonna pull that macho bullshit about how real men don’t get fucked?” The pain in the pilot’s voice is papable. “Think we can’t be friends anymore cause I’m some kinda twink?”
“I didn’t say...”
“But you’re thinkin’ it. You’re thinkin’ you don’t know me anymore.” There’s a hand on his shoulder and another taking the cereal away from him. What the hell, he doesn’t want it anyway. “Face, Face, look at me.”
He forces himself to comply. And there it is, the hurt he’s caused, his own guilt. “Murdock...”
“D’ya think I’m not me anymore, Face? Am I different? Am I not me anymore?”
Coming from Murdock, that can be a literal or figurative type of question, and either way, it hits Face where he lives, deep down. “No,” he says, and says it because it’s true. “No, you’re still Murdock.”
The fingers on his shoulder dug in a little, like they always did before, and it only scares Face because, well... “Yeah?” comes the soft little reply.
“Yeah.”
“So, what’s your problem?”
Face struggles with that for a moment. He’s really not sure, so he just blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “It isn’t natural, buddy, it’s...”
“Gross?” Murdock says it with a laugh.
Face wonders if everything’s okay. Fuck, everything needs to be okay. “It is a little gross.”
“Hey!”
“You’re the one who said it!”
“So, you’ve never thought about it?”
“No.”
“No? Not Hannibal or BA? They’re both so... never?”
“No, Murdock.”
A long pause, and then the pilot has to ask the worst question possible. “Me?”
And that gives Face pause. Murdock can’t be asking him this. What’s he supposed to say to that? After their year together, he knows that the pilot’s not as clinically insane as the military seems to think he is, but still, he’s fragile. Doesn’t take too much pressure to snap him apart, and there’s something wistful in the pilot’s voice anyway right now, so there’s got to be something... and Murdock’s other hand was on his other shoulder and those blue-green eyes are crinkled up, studying his own.
Like Murdock can see right through him, and it scares the shit out of Face.
The lieutenant gulped. “No.”
“Never?” Their noses are so close, almost touching. “Never ever ever?”
“Murdock, what are you...”
But it’s too late to be asking questions.
The pilot’s lips, soft, softer than he would have thought, latch onto his own. Easy, gentle, closed. Almost sweet, if he couldn't feel stubble, and why is that exciting? An offer, Face thinks, a little promise of what his body seems to be responding to, betraying him utterly by leaning into it, just a bit, his lips parting, and he can feel Murdock’s smile as he starts to dive, taking them both...
“What the fuck?” he practically shouts, shoving Murdock off and away. Too hard, really, and the pilot wasn’t ready for it, so he lands on his ass a few feet away, head down and body starting to shake, like a kicked puppy, Face thinks, but he can’t stop himself, he just can’t. “What the fuck are you doing, Murdock?”
The pilot stands up, clenches a fist, lip between his teeth to keep it from quivering, fist clenching in his pocket, on the hem of his hawaiian shirt. “Go home, Peck!” he snaps in a tone Face didn’t know he possesses, and vanishes back into the house.
It take Face a few seconds, after the anger washes out of his bloodstream, after he calms down just a bit, a few seconds after the slider slams shut, a few seconds to realize that there were tears in the other man’s eyes.
And then he feels like an asshole, because his brain automatically presents him with something about gay guys and feelings and doesn’t that make way too much sense? Well, fuck, Face thinks, and knows he should apologize, leave, go fuck something in the C-cup range and ask for a transfer to another unit, but he can’t get up.
He can’t do anything
He can’t make his hard-on go away, either.
Dammit.
Elbows hit knees and his hair tangle up in his hair and everything really sucks for a while.
+++++
The lieutenant’s surprised that nothing happens. BA doesn’t come out to threaten him, Hannibal isn’t yelling at him. There’s... nothing.
Face isn’t sure how long he’s out there on Hannibal’s deck before he gives up and goes back inside. He needs to grab his car keys, get the hell out of here, leave them to... whatever it is they do, and he doesn’t even glance over at BA and Murdock and Hannibal, where they’re lounging in the living room.
He can't look.
The sofa he crashed on last night is unoccupied, and he dropped his keys under it somewhere, he just knows it...
“Lieutenant!”
It’s barked. An order. Face freezes automatically, and then thinks, fuck that. He’s not taking any of that right now. Not from a... and another wave of shame washes over him. “What is it, boss?” Where are those damn keys?
“You owe Murdock an apology.”
He’s got the fob in hand, thank god, and stands up. “He kissed me, not the other way around.”
“You still owe him an apology.”
“For what?” Face demands, angry again, because Hannibal is not pulling this shit on him right now. “He sexually assaulted me, boss!”
And all the air goes out of the room.
They’re all staring at him, Hannibal in disbelief, BA in pure fury, and Murdock, oh no, Murdock...
His hands open, and there’s something sinking fast in his stomach, and Face knows, just knows, that there’s no way he can fix this. Still, he takes one step towards his friend, and then another. “Buddy, I’m sorry, you know I don’t...”
“I already told you, Faceman,” Murdock says in that same voice from before but worse, much much worse. “Go home. Clear you’re too good to hang ‘round a bunch of fags.” And then he’s gone again, just a little too quick, and BA’s gone with him, after him, and it’s just Face and Hannibal.
He really expects the boss to start yelling. Nothing like that, though. What comes is worse.
“Happy yet, Face? Insulted everyone enough yet? Can you go home, secure in the knowledge that you’re a real man...”
“... boss, I didn’t mean...”
“Don’t interrupt me, kid! Not right now!”
Yeah, he’s really done it this time. Hurt his best friend, insulted his boss, offended all of them... but he can still feel Murdock’s lips on his, and he can’t apologize, so there’s no way he’s ever going to feel that again, and why is that sad?
Why the fuck is that sad?
What is wrong with him?
“He loves you, you know.”
“Not helping, boss.”
“Loves you like a brother, Face. But he’s always respected your boundaries.” Hannibal sighs a little. “We all have. It’s not his fault you found out. This wasn’t forced on you.”
We all have...
Face likes his earlier plan, the one about leaving, never coming back, leaving the team, leaving it all behind. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that. And it’s worked pretty well so far.
But Hannibal’s between him and the door, curiously not saying anything now as Face’s hand tightens down around his keys. And he realizes that Hannibal probably knows what he wants to do, what he’s going to do, because he’s been with Hannibal for four years, and the man knows him better than anybody else, better than anyone ever has, better than he knows himself, and he feels sick at the thought of leaving, but what other option does he have?
What else can he possibly do?
“Why are you running, Face?”
It’s not Hannibal’s angry voice. That’s... disconcerting. “You can’t throw this on me and expect me to be okay with it.”
“Fair enough.” Wait, what? “Why flip out?”
“It’s... it’s...” and the lieutenant buries his face in his hands. There’s something trying to come to the surface, something terrible that’s going to destroy him, and Hannibal’s going to have it out. He has to get out of here before that happens. “I don’t know.”
“You a homophobe, Face?”
“No...”
“You think we deserve your righteous indignation?”
“No, jeez, boss...”
And Hannibal’s voice drops even lower, low and deep and almost... almost sensual. “You enjoy it, trying to prove that you didn’t?”
Face tries to snap back at that, but he can’t.
Oh god, he can’t.
“No?”
“I thought better of you, kid,” Hannibal says softly. “I told you, a long time ago, never to lie to me. You remember?”
“Yeah,” he says, and wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He does remember that day. Greatest goddamn day of his life, the anticipation of getting to serve under the legend, learn from him, and looking back at it now, the first day of the only real relationship he’s ever had in his life, the start of something really good that’s crumbling apart around him now. “Yeah, I remember, Hannibal.”
“Well, you’re lying to me right now, so you can leave.” The detachment in everything Hannibal’s saying, the coldness, the way he moves away and leans up against the wall, arms crossed... Face shivers. “Get the hell out of my house, lieutenant.”
And there it all goes.
“Can you apologize to him for me?”
“I don’t think I can fix that particular mess for you, lieutenant.”
Face already knows it's over, and the colonel's tone just confirms it, so he goes for the door knob. Everything seizes up right then, the image of Murdock knocked back, almost scared, in tears, all because he can’t admit that it might, because it might have been... “It’s just too much."
"Too much?"
"I’ll be by on Monday for a signature.”
The shift in the older man is slight, barely noticeable, and Face only picks up on it because he’s spent the last four years learning to predict this man’s needs, figuring out what he wants and when and how, a task he’s never hated. He's loved it, actually.
Absolutely loved it.
“What are you running from, Face?”
“... nothing.” But he can’t turn the knob.
“You’re running from something.”
No, no, no, nonono, no. “No, Hannibal, really, I’m not.”
“I think you are.” Face tries to answer, but Hannibal just keeps going. “I think you’re afraid.”
“What... what would I be afraid of?” Face manages, cringing either at how his voice cracks like a teenager’s, or possibly at the way Hannibal peels himself off the wall, circles in front of him, starts advancing. The way Face has to back up. The way Hannibal’s following, pushing him back. “I’m not a homophobe...”
“Oh, I know you’re straight, Face. All those girls I’ve watched you go through, all the girls you’ve fucked, the ones I’ve had to watch you fuck, heard, on those nights we were on a mission and you thought I was asleep. You’ve got nothing to prove to me about how man you are, kid...”
There’s something hungry in Hannibal’s face, the lieutenant realizes. Something like how he was looking at BA earlier, when he kissed him. Like that. More intense.
“... I know damn well what you like, kid. Know everything about you...”
A hell of a lot more intense.
“... and I know this about you too, Face...”
The younger man’s back hits a wall, and the colonel lays a hand on his shoulder, a hand that’s moving up his neck, fingertips brushing his cheek, into his hair. He’s scared. For the first time in four years, he’s scared. Of Hannibal.
“...you’ve never enjoyed being in control.”
Face opens his mouth to protest, the very suggestion of that driving far too deep, but the boss just lays a finger on his lips and closes it for him. “You enjoyed Murdock taking the lead, kissing you like that. You enjoyed him.”
“Hannibal...” he pleads, and another elbow hit down beside his ear. “Hannibal, please...”
“Don’t worry, kid,” says a man he barely recognizes, one he’s trusted with his life, one he’s always believed he’d die for, whispers, low and hot against his skin. “You’ll enjoy this.”
“Enjoy... what?” he says, mouth dry.
“This, lieutenant.”
And then, then, Hannibal's kissing him.
And Face can't stop him.
It should be horrible, but it’s not. Or maybe the fact that it’s not makes it so. Face can’t quite decide on that. It’s hard to think.
Nothing’s getting through.
Nothing but the feel of this.
Face tries to resist at first, tries to move or shove the colonel off or push away. But this isn’t Murdock, and Hannibal knows all his tricks, and Face can’t do anything to stop it except pinch his lips together and not think, not think, not think about it.
Then his body betrays him again, and parts, opens, giving Hannibal what he wants, and it’s almost like Murdock, with that first little swipe of tongue. Like Murdock but different. Murdock was sweet, Murdock was asking, and Hannibal is neither. Hannibal’s kiss is demanding, rough and hard. A hand’s holding Face’s head immobile, twisted up almost painfully in his hair, as that mouth attacks his own, as Hannibal’s solid, muscular bulk holds him fast against the wall and takes exactlay what he...
No, Face realizes, and groans as that tongue sweeps deeper in, playing. It’s not about what Hannibal wants, not exactly, not really.
It’s what he wants.
And that...
He somehow manages to leverage an arm between them, gain a few inches to find oxygen, try not to panic. Hannibal’s eyes are watching him, the blue there almost completely vanished into the black of the older man’s arousal, and there’s something hard pressing against his own thigh.
Hannibal releases his head but doesn’t move away, doesn’t lift away. “I’ve waited years to touch you like this,” he says, almost meditatively. “Years, Face.”
The lieutenant doesn’t trust his voice right now.
“About fucking time, too,” the boss growls, and those sinfully talented lips are back, attacking his ear, jaw, throat, chest, everywhere, hands roaming, Hannibal, Hannibal everywhere, moving down, the top button of his jeans popping...
“No,” he gasps as his brain catches up with what’s going on, and now he’s scared again, the momentarily distraction of all that, just a minute ago, draining away. If Hannibal does this, there’ll be no going back. None at all.
What will that mean?
“Hannibal, stop.”
“What, kid,” the boss says in an almost bored tone and yanks his pants and boxers off in one smooth, practiced flick, simultaneously dropping to his knees and curling a hand around Face’s, goddamn it, burgeoning erection. “This make me less of a man to you?”
“Please...”
“Shut up, lieutenant,” he snaps, and jams Face against the wall, and the younger man can feel his abs fluttering against a rough palm just as he’s sucked into a warm, wet, wonderful space.
Face’s hips buck of their own accord, and his head hits the wall. A gutteral sound, more chaotic than a groan, rips loose from his throat as Hannibal tongues around his cockhead, swirling for a moment before taking him in all the way. Part of his brain, the conscious, sane part, the part that’s still screaming at him to run because you’re not gay, goddamn it, is wondering where the boss’s gag reflex is.
The suction’s heavenly, and Hannibal definitely knows what he’s doing with his tongue and won’t let him do anything, slams him back into the wall every time Face moves his hips, and a hand’s coming up to roll his balls, and it’s good, really good, too good, too much, too fast, too fast, far too...
Horrified, Face feels his stomach draw up and his balls tighten and everything go hot inside him and not even looking down at Hannibal, locking eyes with the man sucking his cock, is enough to stop it.
And he’s crying out softly, hands clenched tight against the paint, tears springing from his eyes. All that pressure rushes out of him and into Hannibal, the colonel swallowing every drop of his shame, and Face just fucking knows that this is going to do him in.
This is the absolute end of him.
End of everything.
A hand’s stroking his hip, around back, closing, tugging a little, and a hand’s wiping the tears away. “That was very, very good, Face,” Hannibal murmurs and kisses him on the cheek. “That was very good.”
Another tug, and Hannibal’s got him off the wall, moving him.
“Boss,” he says, inarticulate and thick, unable to block the desperation out of his voice. The aftershocks of orgasm are coursing through his system. The orgasm this man just gave him. Wonderful, hard and fast and blinding, satisfying like he hasn’t had in a long time. “Boss, what are you...”
“Shut up,” the colonel growls again, teeth worrying his ear, and tugs harder.
He can either stumble or follow. Face can’t hold himself upright, so he does both, Hannibal manhandling him out of his pants and across the room. Bare feet drag on soft carpet, and Fce realizes the boss’s grip isn’t quite absolute, that he really could fight this if he wanted to, he can get away, he can...
But Hannibal’s mouth is on his own, that hard, rough kiss back, claiming him, taking away any option to run, and Face pushes back against it just a little anyway. Tastes something there that can only be him, his own essence lingering on the boss’ tongue, and another shiver runs through him.
“So fucking beautiful,” and Hannibal licks up his neck, nipping right along Face’s jaw, “you look so fucking beautiful like this...”
“Hannibal, please...” Face is aware that they’re moving down the the hall, that Hannibal’s leading him somewhere. Somewhere... and he can’t go there. This is bad enough. He can’t stop the panic. “I need to go, boss, c’mon...”
“I know exactly what you need, kid. Always know what you need...”
There’s a silent question in there, one that almost pushes through the shuttering black of his own fear, one that almost calms him completely - the boss is asking for trust. The same trust Face has willingly given him on four years of missions, four years of bloodshed and violence and cold and reeking clothes, and Hannibal’s always, always brought him home, seen him back whole, and Face can almost extend that, he can almost believe that Hannibal really does know...
But Hannibal’s shoving him none too gently through a door, and he can see the hallway behind him, see the living room where he just lost part of himself, something he’ll never be able to get back. The thought of that...and a surge of anger cuts gets him out of the boss’ grasp and around and there Murdock and BA are, curled up around one another on Hannibal’s king-sized bed, whatever they were doing forgotten in open-mouthed stares.
Pants lost, the boss running a hand down his shoulder, pulling him back, into all the warmth and security that is Hannibal, cheeks flushed, his gay, gay friends staring at the whole of the scene... oh yeah, Face wants to die.
“Hannibal...”
“Shut up, Face.”
“Bossman?” Murdock asks, pushing away from Bosco and scooting forward on the bed a little. “Bossman, what’s goin’ on?”
But Hannibal doesn’t say anything, just hurtles Face onto the bed, face first, and the lieutenant’s so, so grateful there’s nothing resembling a footboard on this thing. He scrambles up a little, BA and Murdock carefully avoiding touching him as he scrunches his body back up a little further on the mattress.
“Boss?”
Hannibal pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion, down one arm and tosses it away. Face has seen him naked before, that rugged expanse of fine silver hair and scars and muscle and skin permanently tanned, all his years of missions, of fighting, recorded on his body, and he just stands there for a second, clearly thinking, his thinking face on, and nods to BA.
“You boys get him ready.”
Behind him, Face can hear them shift a little, and then BA clears his throat. “Boss, I think we should...”
And Hannibal’s on top of him in a heart’s beat, which is terrifying, because Face’s heart is racing hard and fast right now. He leans down over him, taking his weight on a hand, and breathes on Face’s cock. Soft as it is from Hannibal’s earlier... attention, it still twitches.
“Get him ready, BA.”
That’s an order.
That’s going to be followed.
Motherfucker.
Face thinks for a moment that maybe he can argue his way out of this, that he can convince BA that this is a really, really bad idea, that Murdock’s not actually going to help Hannibal do this.
But that’s not going to happen.
BA’s dragging him all the way up, tossing him on his stomach beside Murdock, divesting him of his polo at the same time. The big guy’s angry.
Tempered anger, maybe, but still.
Angry.
The cooler air of the room hits his skin, flushed with humiliation, everything completely exposed now, totally naked, and BA balls his shirt up and tosses it away, leaving a heavy hand on the small of his back, anchoring him down, nothing gentle about any of it.
That’s fine. From this angle, shoved back into the pillows, Face doesn’t have look up at the pilot, who’s probably still pissed, still upset.
No sympathy coming.
But that sinking feeling is taking the lieutenant straight to the bottom of the ocean and he doesn’t think he really deserves it anyway. He’s not fighting this. Squirming, sure, wriggling, maybe, but he’s not really struggling. Some part of him knows he should be, some part wants to, but he can’t. Maybe he’s in shock or something, he tells himself, and just can’t move.
Yeah, sure.
BA rolls off to the side, still keeping the pressure on, and Face hears a drawer open and shut again. That’s a fresh chill, right there, realizing what the corporal must be going for. A soft touch on his shoulder distracts him, and he twists his neck in the direction of it.
Murdock, mouth hard but twitching ever so slightly, just watching him.
He lets his face fall into the quilt. “I’m so sorry, buddy...”
“No you ain’t,” comes the cold response, but that touch on his shoulder stays, thumb tracing the outline of his collarbone.
“You never sorry,” BA grunts, coming back over and cups one of his ass cheeks, squeezing lightly. Starts exploring, playing almost, the rough calloused palm so, so good against the bare skin, Murdock claiming a larger and larger section of Face’s back, neck, trailing up into his hair as BA’s sweeps get firmer, more demanding. Both of them, all that contact, and Face can’t help the little moan that escapes right as a finger slides right between, right up, settling into pattern right around his...
BA pushes in, dry, not far but far too far, and Face’s entire body jerks
And that Face does fight.
Something snaps at the sensation, trying to wrench his body back under his own control, almost getting it as he’s smashed fully into the mattress by a man who’s got both weight and leverage on him. Doesn’t stop him though, not the way BA’s just kind of throwing him around, how he’s straddling his back, those roughed hands pinching closed on his wrists and deliberately pushing down. No, that adrenalin’s going full-bore now, and he can’t quite stop, can’t get off his stomach, if Face could just do that he might be able to...
And then long fingers wrap through his hair hard enough to make his scalp go tight, and pull him up, just a little. “Stop squirmin’, Faceman,” Murdock whispers in his ear, faces close again. “John’s jus’ tryin’ to help you out.”
He bites his lip and goes still. Murdock didn’t sound mad, exactly, that time, did he?
“Murdock, this is not helping!” he hisses back and buck up against BA’s still-clothed thighs, tight and oppressive around his stomach. This shouldn’t be happening. “Why are you...”
BA gives him one more good squeeze, like he’s warning him or something, and then Murdock slides around to take his place on Face’s back, holding him down as the corporal moves back. Face can’t see what’s going on back there, but his legs are being forced apart, held open by what feels like knees, that finger back where it was before.
Slick, this time.
There’s no waiting now, no more touching, just that finger, the next, working into Face’s body, turning just a little. There’s never been this before, never been anything like this before. It’s... but before Face’s brain can quantify that feeling into something he can consciously describe to himself, he makes a sound he doesn’t recognize, pain or fear or that hideous arousal, that unfair, unfair response he just can’t seem to turn off.
“Oh... fuck...Bosco, come on, please don’t...”
Murdock just jerks the lieutenant's head up, throwing his neck up in a painful angle. They moved during Face’s little struggle, and there Hannibal is, lounging shirtless against the wall, the same posture, the same expression, as before when he was watching Face leave. There’s something carelessly sensual in the man right now, power coiled up and waiting to be loosed. He cocks his head a little, and there’s another finger in him now, three, painful as the muscles loosen, as BA opens him up, makes everything ready...
“What’s wrong, Face?” Hannibal asks, like he’s asking about the color of the carpet.
The lieutenant knows his eyes are wide, and the whimpers are coming faster now with BA’s leisurely progress. He knows what’s happening, that Hannibal is... well, that this is probably going to hurt, and hurt worse than it should anyway, nothing to do with the boss’ size and everything to do with the man himself, if Hannibal does this.
How could Hannibal do this to him? How is the boss making Face's own body betray him like this?
“Why...”
Hannibal just unsnaps the first button on his own jeans, then the second, on down. At the same time, BA hits something deep down, far up, something white-hot and completely new, sending electricity racing under his skin. Murdock’s holding his head up, and Face shudders as BA strokes it again. And again. And again, as Hannibal’s slowly letting the jeans fall off his hips, come away, his impressive cock springing free. The lieutenant feels another rush of fear, new, fresh, and Hannibal’s pacing over towards him...
The boss drops down, so they’re face to face on the edge of the bed. Murdock’s hand is gone, replaced by Hannibal’s own on his cheek again, and BA’s hand is gone, replaced with nothing but a curious emptiness that Face doesn’t, doesn’t like at all. They’ve moved away.
He braces himself for what’s probably coming next, but then Hannibal does something he wasn’t expecting.
“My boy,” the boss murmurs and plays with his hair again, something like wonder in the words, the touch. Gentle and unyielding both. “My beautiful, strong, stubborn boy, you never did understand, did you, just what you are to me...”
Face grabs out for him, and Hannibal lets himself be caught. The lieutenant swallows and tentatively brushes the line of the boss’ throat. Bare skin, nothing between them, he can see the naked desire in the other man’s eyes, more than just lust, need, and when was the last time he saw that in anyone? On anyone? For him, something real, something worthwhile, something more than an empty screw...
And Face doesn’t believe what comes out of his mouth, what wells up from deep, deep down, from that heat BA was spreading through him, from Murdock’s warmth, everything suddenly on fire for this man, right in front of him.
“What do you mean?” He tried to laugh. Fails. Chokes a little.
“Do you want me to show you?”
He licks his lips, steeling himself, hoping like hell he can say, but that’s not what comes out.
Not at all.
“...yes...”
A dry, thick, scratchy word, barely a word, but his, and he can’t take it back.
Not with Hannibal smiling like that. That... damn pleased with himself smile, triumphant, and the boss whispers his own reply against Face's lips.
“Good.”
The boss is on him, the time missing from between when he’s kneeling on the floor next to the bed and when he’s pressed, full-length, against Face’s back. The lieutenant doesn’t know how Hannibal did that, and a growing part of him doesn’t care. Not when teeth graze his neck. Not when that strong body rolls against his. Not when Hannibal’s shoving under him and pulling him up, hands and knees, ass to hips.
Not when that massive cock slides up his thigh, hard, undeniable.
Not when the boss grabs hold of his hips.
Not when he groans and lets his head drop, shaking a little as his arms fight to hold him steady
“This,” Hannibal growls, low and dangerous and exciting.
“This,” or something like that, as the man behind him runs a hand up Face’s spine, pushing his thumb down between each vertebra, and it almost hurts enough to distract the younger man.
Almost.
But how did women do this, the panic asks him? How did women just give up and give over and surrender? And, in that panic, Face doesn’t think he can do that, he doesn’t think he can do that at all, he can’t...
“This is what you want,” he says, and Face tries to calm down. This is Hannibal. He trusts Hannibal. Man knows him better than he knows himself, and part of himself is bucking back, wanting more pressure, wanting to let go... “It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
Oh, god, the colonel’s fingers are right at his entrance, mimicking BA from earlier, firmer, rougher. Rough words, too. Rough and terrible and wonderful, a steady litany.
“Always needed to be here, under me, ready for me, so ready...”
Burning with shame, Face can’t deny the effect that voice, those words, are having on him. His own neglected erection is swollen to the point of pain, but he can’t lift up to take care of it. Hannibal’s behind him now, obviously up on his knees and his cock’s sliding between Face’s cheeks, like BA’s hand but... more, so much more than that, and he suddenly finds himself wondering what this is going to feel like, how it’s going to be to have that driving into him, to be laid bare like this, taken, owned...
“Let me hear it, kid.” Hannibal’s voice reaches him somehow, through all that, like a lamp in the darkness. “Let me hear you tell me how much you need this.”
“I-I don’t...” he stutters, one last ditch attempt, but they both know he’s lost this argument. Anyway, Hannibal’s got a finger in him now, stroking right over his prostate and short-circuiting his protest. Melting him. BA was good. But this is Hannibal, Hannibal, the first person who ever cared for him, saw him as anything more, pushed him, demanded things of him...
“Oh, Face, you really, really do.”
“Boss, please...”
He’s not sure what he’s asking for, for Hannibal to stop or for Hannibal to keep going, if he wants to run or wants to give up, give over, but then the moment's past. Decision made.
There’s something driving into him and he screams at the breach, at the force and the stretch and the edge of pain, his body fighting the intrusion. Driving into him, splitting him open, filling him with a heat he’s never known before, and it all feels like Hannibal and dimly through the fading understanding that anything else in the world exists, Face realizes.
Somehow, it doesn’t matter if he couldn’t figure this thing out, didn’t know what he was asking for. Hannibal knows. Hannibal answered it for him.
...Hannibal was right.
A wave of relief washes through him, and those hands jam him back hard, all the way down, impaling him completely. Face feels smooth muscle against his own, ass flush to Hannibal’s hips, just like before, but so much better. So much better, because the boss is inside him now.
Inside him, filing him up, taking him, claiming...
“Exactly where you belong. Where I belong, kid, buried in you like this...” Hannibal’s grip is shaking, whether from emotion or the force of staying still, Face doesn’t know. He shouldn’t. Face wants him to move. For some reason he doesn’t quite understand, he needs Hannibal to start moving. Needs it. Desperately.
Now.
“You feel that?”
Hannibal thrusts lightly and Face groans. He can’t think, can’t, but it’s okay, he doesn’t need to. There’s only one answer for that. “Yeah... John... I feel you.” He’s never used Hannibal’s given name before. It seems right to use it now, and the boss must appreciate it, because he groans.
Loud.
Hands do a rough circuit of sweat-slick back, resting again on hips. Hannibal leans forward a little. “I feel you too, Templeton,” and the way he say Face’s real name, almost like a prayer... “Feel everything.”
And then he straightens, tightens.
But he doesn't start to move.
Face whines a little, flexes back without really meaning to. All that pressure... it’s going to kill him if the boss doesn’t start moving. “Hanni... John, John, come on...”
“Shh, it’s okay, Temp. You doin’ good.”
It’s not Hannibal, and Face finally pulls his head up, remembers where he is, who else is here, whose eyes are fixed on him, and the fear’s back. It’s back hard, and if Hannibal hadn’t just grabbed him around his waist and held him fast, he thinks he would have bolted at that.
Murdock, Murdock’s watching him, not quite warm, still guarded, sprawled out on his back and head thrown back on the quilt, less than a foot from his own. BA’s over him on his elbows, chest to chest, very, very close, not smiling but not angry either. They’re both naked now, that some step in the evening Face managed to miss, and they’re both watching him.
Some kind of agreement’s being made right now, Face realizes. Some kind of arrangement. If he does the wrong thing, he’s going to shatter everything apart.
And that can’t happen.
He tenses, which clenches his interior muscles tight around Hannibal, buried inside him, and the colonel groans. Starts rocking, just a little, in and out, slow and easy, shaking from what be an obvious effort not to just fuck him into the mattress. And thinking about that, Face groans.
His body's screaming for it. For Hannibal to really let loose, take him, show him...
BA’s the one who spoke, and BA’s the one who reaches out now and traces some nonsense pattern on the lieutenant’s cheek. “Real good, Temp.” And normally he’s so quiet.
Warmth rushes through him
Face turns into that palm for a moment, and looks back down at Murdock. Takes a deep breath, tries to speak, but all that comes out is a groan. He’s not capable of words right now. Not with that gigantic cock, so deep...
“Ain’t about you’n’me right now, Temp,” Murdock whispers, and silences him with a finger to his lips.
“Nobody gettin’ punished,” BA adds. Smiling at last.
Face nods, and as if Hannibal was waiting for this little moment to realy start going, everything changes.
Gentleness gives way slowly, crumbling The thrust that hits his prostate is hard and unmerciful, and with a cry, Face falls forward, down to his elbows, his hands refusing to hold him up any long. His body’s shaking. It changes the angle and Hannibal groans a little bit as he’s pulled out, Face wincing a little too, even at that small loss, but it’s back in an instant, just as hard. Hannibal’s splitting him open, driving into his very heart, and Face is making far, far too much noise, but he can’t help himself.
It feels too good.
It feels so, so fucking good.
A matching moan beneath him and Face smiles, actually smiles, at the thought that BA must have entered the pilot. And Murdock cranes his neck upward for an awkward, awkward kiss, as soft as before, but much more desperate now, much more needy, and even in this strange configuration, Face tries to give him what he wants. Lets him take it.
He brushes his hands through soft, dark hair and holds on to that sweetness as a stay against the brutal pounding, the ache that he can’t decide is pain or pleasure. One of Murdock's hands reaches up to fist in his hair, locking them together.
Their whimpers combine between sealed lips, only escaping when the colonel tugs particularly hard and separates them. Face can't tell what BA's doing to Murdock, but it seems to be less violent. He doesn't care right then.
Hannibal’s pulling the lieutenant’s ass against that impossibly hard flesh, guiding him as Face frantically starts thrusting back, trying to find a steady pace. But the boss isn’t giving it to him, everything uneven and unpredictable, out of his control, and once Face realizes that, he groans into Murdock’s mouth and stops fighting, stops trying to help, and lets himself be swept away in the sensation.
It’s not long after that, half a dozen thrusts or less, and the boss grabs around his waist and pulls him off Murdock, off that cock, and throws him on his back against the pillows. He’s empty, all that hot flesh gone, his back, his ass, and Face whines a little in protest.
But just as fast, Hannibal’s over him, palms on the younger man’s knees, shoving them up to his chest, and growls, “hold them there.” Face can feel his cheeks burning at the request but brings trembling hands up to wrap around the back of his knees, and Hannibal’s back inside, pistoning into him immediately, no time given or needed now, no more adjustments necessary.
Face couldn't stop Hannibal now if his life depended on it. Wouldn't.
It’s different, just as good, the boss' straining abdominals rubbing rough and hard against Face's own long-neglected cock where it's trapped between them, the graze of chest hair against his own, hands gripping no less hard, different pressure points, different stimulations, and there’s that spot inside of him, Hannibal’s cock grazing it once more...
“... oh god, John, John, right there...”
“You like that?” And Hannibal nails that spot again, pushing through and past it, and all Face can feel is that. The world grays away. It’s just Hannibal, taking him higher and higher, his body burning for release, and dimly, he can hear the boss whispering to him, beautiful and fucking tight and mine, what you were fucking meant for, stroking his neck with a sweaty hand and kissing him in between words.
The boss is close, just one more hard thrust, savaging Face’s mouth with something far more primal than a kiss, drives in harder than all before and locks up inside him. Something hot and smooth and triumphant rushes into him, and Hannibal’s roaring against his neck. Hot words and teeth, nothing Face can discern, and on the far side of that, nearly simultaneously, he feels skin breaks on his shoulder, just a little blood, and it very nearly sends him over the edge.
But then there’s the best of all, something Face would never have through before today that he would hear Hannibal say to him, something he’d never known he needed to hear, something so delicious as to wipe every other consideration away, that little come for me, love, want to see you come for me and he does.
Harder than he ever has in his life.
Spilling in hot, long bursts that never seem to end, coating his chest and Hannibal’s in his release, and he goes limp, feeling like he’s been fucked within a inch of his life. He barely registers those strong, strong hands easing him down from it all, holding him close, murmuring reassurances, and his last conscious thought for a while, before he blacks clean out, was how Hannibal knew this about him, anyway...
“How you feel, darlin’?”
Face feels his eyes flutter open, the color coming back into the room. Outlines, details, and not everything all at once. Not the part about Hannibal fucking him through the bed, Murdock kissing him, BA’s soft encouragement. Hannibal, BA, Murdock, naked, watching him so intensely? That he gets.
Or doesn't.
So the reaction, it’s unfortunately automatic.
He doesn’t mean to scramble back into the wall like his does, knocking pillows out of the way in an attempt to get away from Hannibal, who’s kneeling between his still-spread legs. From BA, rubbing the pilot’s stomach. Murdock, who’s plastered against his side, tickling a hand down his ribs, who just kissed him.
It’s ungainly, his lack of immediate recognition. Maybe the most ungainly thing he’s done in a long, long time. So ungainly, actually, that he falls off the bed.
He doesn’t want that. It’s like everything was trying to snap back into place, old patterns trying to reassert themselves, return to the way they were. Face doesn’t want that, and the momentary it’s already fading as his breath starts to slow. He just had the best sex of his life. With a man. With three men, men he loves. If he’d just had a second, just needs a second...
But it’s too late. The lieutenant can hear the bed creak as weight’s removed from the box springs and there’s another one of those heart-wrenching “you’re an asshole, Peck”s thrown at him and the bedroom door slams so hard the floor shakes.
The response is swift and furious
“Face...”
“So help me god, el-tee, you hurt that crazy fool and I'm gonna...”
He shoves himself up, grabbing for a handful of the bedclothes to help leverage himself. Face is a little surprised by how shaky he is, but his legs cooperate, and he’s out after the pilot. He has to get his buddy before he gets to the front door, he thinks. Doesn’t really consider the fact that Murdock’s naked. Hasn’t stopped him before.
And he manages to pin the pilot just before he turns the knob. Slams him into the wood with a shoulder and grabs for a wrist, holding him there. Murdock struggles a little, gets that hand free, and it’s ungainly, just like Face falling off the bed, the skirmish that ensues.
They both end up on the floor, and Murdock gets one good punch in before everything gets too confused for either of them to inflict much damage. Not that Face wants to. But it’s sort of instinct as this point, and Face has a few pounds on Murdock, and he’s not pissed, so he ends up over the top of him, holding him bodily down, trying to keep as much of his weight on the infuriated pilot until he stops struggling and just goes limp.
Murdock rolls his head to the side and clenches a fist. “Whadda ya want, Faceman? Ya already made you point, you don’t... d-don’t want...”
His heart really is going to shatter apart if the man under him keeps talking like that, so Face does the only thing he can think of; he turns his friend’s head until they’re facing each other and shuts him up with a sloppy, inelegant, hurried kiss.
Murdock won’t kiss him back, though.
“Please, Murdock, buddy,” Face whispers, pulling back just a little, letting his hands stray into that hair. All the smooth, lean muscle under him, and all he can focus on is this hair. It might be his favorite thing in the world, he decides, and he doesn’t want to lose it now that he's finally felt it between his fingers, so beautiful, Murdock. “C’mon, I didn’t mean...”
“Didn’t mean what? Didn’t mean to let Hannibal fuck you, tell you he loved you?”
Did Hannibal say that? Face freezes, remembering that word being thrown out, come for me, love, and Murdock seems to slump in defeat.
“I get it, Face. You’re straight and there’s nuthin’ we... nuthin’ I can...” Murdock sighs, and looks away again. “Now let me up.”
“HM,” he says, hoping like hell he hasn’t fucked this all up, and places his hand right over his friend’s heart, feeling it drum against his palm. Struggles to find the words. “HM, buddy, I... I don’t know if... sexual orientation, whatever, I love you guys...”
“You’re lyin’.”
“”No, I love you guys. Hannibal and BA and...”
“And me?”
He strokes the pilot’s scalp again, wanting to fist-punch in victory as those sea-colored eyes turn to meet his.
“Yeah, Murdock, I love you. It’s so much to take in, and I didn’t mean...I wasn't try to...fuck, buddy, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, can you ever...”
Then Murdock gets a gleam in his eye and he surges up, snapping a kiss before Face can say anything else, and rolls them both over, settling back on the lieutenant’s thighs. Traces a circle around his belly button, just smiling back.
"You're a meany-face, Face."
"Yeah, but I'm your, uh, meany-face... right?"
"Damn straight," Murdock drawls and leans forward for another kiss.
Face rubs a hand up the leg holding him down, so strong, feels that little thrill again. Being with somebody who could physically overpower him, seize control, wonders what it will feel like when Murdock takes him, wonders if they can do that right the hell now, wonders if they all forgive him for being such a fucking idiot about this.
But he doesn't get his kiss. BA’s hauling them both up and Hannibal’s muttering something about damn kids these days and the necessity of showers after this kind of activity, and Face has to wait until they’re all under the spray and then he gets something better.
Murdock pushes him up against the slick tile and pushes in and BA helps him wrap his legs around Murdock's waist, dark lips moving to raise another love bite on Face's neck. "Love you, man," the corporal murmurs, an all Face can do is groan and hold on tighter to the pilot wrapped around him.
The lieutenant feels a deep swell of gratitude for the man thrusting up into him, the second ravaging his neck. Gratitude they don't hate him. Gratitude that Hannibal knew him well enough to know not to ask the question Face had been too scared to ask himself.
Grateful Hannibal showed him instead.
Showed him this, right here.
Hannibal’s grinning at him, like he’s making plans again, for the four of them, like this. Face throws him a thumbs up, and lets his head hit the wall, panting hard again already.
Answer enough.
